Another Way to Die
by like-crimson
Summary: The war is over, but Voldemort has found another way to get to Harry, another way to destroy Harry. Now feeling more alone than ever, Harry takes drastic actions with terrible consequences. Will Draco Malfoy, former enemy and school bully, be able to helk
1. Chapter 1

The War was over.

Good had, once again, defeated Evil.

The Dark Lord was gone, dead, his group of followers scattered and filling the cells in Azkaban. The endless killings had ceased, and there were no more disappearances. Hogwarts was once again, a safe place (or "home" for Harry).

Families spent all summer celebrating with fireworks and laughter, closer together than ever before. Happiness and love filled the air of wizards and muggles alike. All, in the name of the Golden Boy, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Vanquished The Dark Lord once and for all.

The Daily Prophet had published numerous articles praising Harry Potter, "Potter ends You Know Who's reign" "Terror ceases; Potter wins" "Potter Triumphant" "All Praise Potter" and "Goodbye He Who Must Not be Named".

Everywhere Harry went, someone would shake his hand, congratulate him and repeatedly utter words of thanks. "Mr Potter, how daring you are!" "Oh Harry Potter, we are forever grateful!" "Thank you Harry, dear!" "You saved us all Mr Potter!"

After all of this, Harry Potter was expected to feel happy, to laugh and joke with the others, to get on with life. But no. In fact, things had become worse for Harry.

Something had gone wrong in Harrys life this summer. Harry didn't feel like himself any more, he didn't feel happy. He felt more than ever, alone.

He had gone to the Burrow in the summer, like always. He had been greeted warmly by all the family, like always. But dampness hung over the air. The family was greatly affected by Fred's death, especially George, who spent the majority of time in his room, or wandering around the house like he was made of wax, all traces of his jolly self gone. Mrs and Me Weasley were broken; after all, they had just lost a son.

Then there was the absence of the daily visits from Lupin and Tonks. Teddy was being cared for by Mrs Weasley, but he was a constant reminder to Harry of the deaths of his two friends.  
>Ginny had also become sad and gloomy, and she and Harry spoke less than they did before. Sometimes, Harry would take her out for walks across the countryside, where sometimes she would break down and cry. However, she didn't share her feelings with Harry, and this is what made Harry angry and sad; she didn't love him enough to let him comfort her. But then again, he didn't tell her how he felt.<p>

Ron and Hermione, half the time were nauseous to watch, the rest of the time they either looked at Harry strangely, or were far too happy. This made Harry angry. They were his 'best friends', and yet they didn't see how he was tearing up inside, no, they were too busy snogging each others faces off, or leaving halfway through the day without telling Harry anything, then returning at night.  
>But all of this together, the sadness of losing friends, the loneliness at losing Ginny and the anger at losing Hermione and Ron, weren't enough to all have caused Harry's anguish.<p>

The night Voldemort had killed Harry, and Harry had killed Voldemort, that night something snapped inside of Harry. He didn't miss the Parseltongue, not the link to Voldemorts mind, nor the other links between him and Voldemort.

Harry's sense of purpose had gone, his point of living had disappeared. He has nothing to live for, no goal, no purpose. He had nobody who understood, everyone was happy in one way or another. Harry felt so alone.

Perhaps it would have been better if Voldemort had killed me, Harry sometimes thought darkly to himself, because life really isn't suiting me.

Draco Malfoy's summer was very different. He had no peaceful but depressing walks in the countryside with Ginny Weasley, no painful deaths within his family. But his summer wasn't great either.

His father, a convicted "loyal" Death Eater, was sent to Azkaban. 5 years in Azkaban. 5 years before he got to see his father again.

But, he supposed, it could have been worse. He and his mother had both escaped the sentance. All thanks to Mr Harry Saint Potter.

Stupid git, Malfoy thought all through the summer. He'd rather not be in debt to Potter, even if It did mean he doesn't have to rot away in Azkaban.

Potter had come to the trial, and given evidence that Narcissa Malfoy had, in fact, betrayed You Know Who, by pronouncing Potter "dead".

Unfortunately, Malfoy thought, Potter was far from dead.

Potter had also given evidence that Draco had refused to betray him (half true, Draco thought) and was only forced into the Dark Lord's bidding (also partly true). And the court listened to Saint Potter, The "Golden Boy" Potter. They all loved him, adored him, web though he didn't notice.

However, not enough good could be said for Draco's father, and the court gave him 5 years.  
>5 years.<p>

Draco was, however, relieved. Even though he had to go back to Hogwarts, he still had his mother and his freedom. He didn't have to spend time with the Dementors.

And quite honestly, Draco thought to himself, slightly amused, he an his father were no longer close after Draco lost most respect for him after his father practically forced Draco into the Death Eaters.  
>Even though Malfoy hated Potter, and Potter hated Malfoy (this was evident from the glowering, hateful look Potter cast at Draco as he left the courtroom), Draco, though unwilling to admit it, subconsciously felt gratitude for Potter for keeping him and his mother out of Azkaban.<p>

However, Draco's summer was dull. When not being harassed by eager journalists, being either congratulated for staying out of Azkaban or spat at for being a Death Eater by everyone he met or spending time at the Ministry discussing his fathers current situation, Draco Malfoy had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one he particularly wanted to see. The only thing left to do was pack for his last year at the place he hated the most; Hogwarts.

It was September the 1st. Time to go back to school.

Back home.

Hogwarts had to undergo severe repair and refurbishment in the summer, considering what had happened in the last term. Most of the castle had to be rebuilt; with magic though, it didn't take too much time. Then the Room of Requirement needed extra care, after being burnt down by Crabbe.  
>The remains of paintings and bits of the castle had to be disposed of, and everything had to look good for when the term started again. It had taken Hogwarts a numerous amount of helpers, both teachers and families alike, to restore Hogwarts back to (nearly) the way it was.<p>

Today, Harry Potter started his 8th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before, Harry had always been excited to see the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express, and delighted to hear the excited chatter of new first years discussing the houses they wanted to be in. The sight of the swarm of owls and huge, old fashioned trunks usually filled Harry's heart with warmth.

But today...nothing. Harry felt empty and alone. He didn't even notice the gasps, stares and points aimed in his direction, he couldn't hear the excited calls of his name, he didn't fully appreciate the now shinier than ever Hogwarts Express.

He felt sad as he looked at the owls; he was instantly reminded of Hedwig, his only loyal companion and link to the Wizarding world. He had gotten a new owl this summer from some "secret admirer", whom he named Snape, due to it's resemblance to his old potions master.

Snape (the owl) had smooth, sleek jet black feathers, completely black eyes and a slightly hooked beak. He was a young owl and quite small in size. no more than a year old, but he seemed too mature for his age (if owls can be mature, Harry thought). Although the owl often ruffled his feathers at Harry, and followed him whenever he went out alone in an accusing manner, Harry had grown rather fond of Snape the owl.

Now Harry was standing on Platform 9 3/4, being hugged goodbye by a tearful Mrs Weasley, smiled at reassuringly by Mr Weasley, gawped at by everyone around him, with his trunk in his hand and Snape's cage in his other, getting ready to leave. His mind was so out of focus with his surroundings that it wasn't until Hermione slapped him on the cheek did he realise the train was about to leave. He awkwardly followed Ron and Hermione into an empty carriage, then sat there staring out of the window, absorbed in his thoughts.

"It feels quite strange to be going back after all of this, don't you think?" Ron said finally, putting his arm around Hermione.

"For our very last year at Hogwarts! Everything is going to be so different though. Everything's changed!" Hermione rested her head on Ron's chest.

"At least there's no fear of being killed while in the loo by You Know Who, eh Harry?" Ron grinned.  
>Harry said nothing, but looked out of the window. Hermione and Ron continued to chat with one another, and Harry didn't even notice when Ginny joined them in the carriage a few minutes later, casting a sad look at Harry.<p>

He didnt look round when several more of his friends; Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamys, poked their heads into the carriage to say 'Hi'.

Nobody noticed that Harry wasn't himself, or nobody cared, Harry thought.

Harry didn't know where he was at first. He looked around him, but all he could see was black. He uncertainly took several steps forward. Nothing happened.

"Is anyone there?" Harry called out, then shut his mouth, surprised at his voice. It was raspy and lifeless, like an old man's.

Suddenly there was a flash of green, and Harry found himself in a grave yard. In front of him, were rows and rows of old fashioned graves, each covered in out of control ivy and weeds. Harry bent over one of the graves, and tore away the ivy, to reveal a name.  
>"Sirius Black"<br>Heart pounding, Harry went over to the next grave, and did the same.  
>"Cedric Diggory"<br>And the next, and the next, and the next...  
>"Dobby" "Padma Patil" "Albus Dumbledore"...<br>Harry stood up, shaking violently, and turned around. He then had to stuff his mouth with his fist to stop himself from screaming.

There, was the half rotted corpse of his godfather, Sirius Black.  
>The corpse of Sirius reached out a mangled hand towards Harry.<p>

"All...your...fault." Sirius rasped.

"No...no..." Harry gasped

"Harry!" a distant voice was calling.

"All these...deaths. For...you." Sirius rasped again.

"No...please..." Harry pleaded.

"HARRY!"

"This is all...your...fault..." Suddenly Sirius crumbled, and as Harry started screaming, the corpses of Fred Weasley, Tonks, Lupin, Snape, Dumbledore and many more grew out of the remains, each one glaring accusingly at Harry.

"Please...stop..." Harry whimpered.  
>"Why did you kill us Harry?" the form of Tonks cried, throwing herself onto Harry, who shook her off, screaming.<p>

"Don't...not my fault..." Harry screamed.

"Harry, wake up!"

"You ruined our family, Harry." Fred whispered accusingly.  
>"Help...no..." Harry yelled.<p>

"Wake up mate!"

"All this pain is your fault!" Lupin snarled, and as he did all the bodies and figures launched themselves on Harry, then Harry screamed so loudly he thought he would explode, and all the figures warped together into Voldemort, who laughed at Harry's yells...

"HARRY!"

Harry woke up, sweat dripping down his forehead, his throat sore from screaming.

"Harry, you alright?" The face of Ron Weasley swam up in front of Harry, Concerned and full of sympathy.

"Nothing...sorry...what?" Harry mumbles, disorientated.

"You were yelling Harry," Seamus said, from behind Ron, "We all thought you were having a fit!"

"Much worse than your usual yelling," Neville yawned from somewhere in the background.

"Sorry. Bad...bad dream," Harry's voice shook.

"Figured that one, mate," Ron grinned slightly, as Harry sat up, panting like a dog.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead where his scar lay concealed under a mop of messy black hair.

"Around 5ish," Ron yawned loudly, "Imma go back to bed. You ok?" without waiting for an answer, Ron slid back into his bed, yawned again, then pulled the covers over his head.

"Night Harry."

Eventually, everyone went back to bed. Everyone but Harry.

"I dont know Ron," Harry whispered to himself quietly, "I don't know if I'm ok."

-  
>"Harry you have to eat something."<p>

Hermione shoved the plate of scrambled egg towards Harry, who pushed it away queasily.  
>"I'm not hungry, thanks."<p>

"Yes you are, you're always hungry at breakfast Harry!" Hermione pressed, pushing the plate back at him.

"No, really Hermione. I'm fine." Harry pushed the plate away again.

"Well, if you're sure mate," Ron pulled the plate towards himself, and started shoving bits of egg into his already full mouth.

Hermione glared at him, while Harry looked on expressionless.

"Wha'? I'm 'ungry!" Ron protested through a mouth full of egg.

Hermione sighed pointedly, "That was meant for Harry!"

"I told you, I don't want it Hermione." Harry said.

"See?" Ron smirked at Hermione, "Don't be so forceful."

"You're such a jerk Ron!" Hermione grumbled, stuffing toast into her mouth.

"You love it," Ron grinned, then kissed Hermione while still chewing the egg. Hermione put on a revolted face, then tried to hide a grin.

Harry, meanwhile, didn't react. The dream, or nightmare, was still vivid in his mind.  
>'Its all your fault.'<br>Harry knew this was just a dream, but yet he managed to hear some truth in those words, which pained him beyond belief.  
>Even though in truth, it wasn't really Harry's fault, Harry was starting to believe it was, and this thought started to tear away his already pained mind.<p>

Draco Malfoy waltzed through the Great Hall as if nothing was wrong. Which it wasn't, for him anyway.

He sat down with the Slytherins, indulging in the varied looks from admiration to fear, and disgust.  
>Nothing was going to go wrong for him this year, he convinced himself.<p>

He wasn't sure why his mother forced him to come to Hogwarts this year. The Malfoy family name was already down the drain, and he obviously wasn't going to have any respect shown to him here. But his mother had been firm. And Draco obviously obeyed.

Now, looking at the Slytherin table, he saw many Slytherins which had not died. Pansy, Blaise,Goyle. No Crabbe though. Crabbe was dead. Draco remembered that day vividly. It was not something he could forget, no matter how much he tried.

But he did (sort of)have respect for the Slytherins that had decided to come back. They weren't given an easy time about it though. Most of the students didn't even talk to the Slytherins any more, let alone help them in any way. They were left to battle on their own. Everyone hated them now.

He struck up a conversation with Blaise and Pansy, then glanced over to the Gryffindors, to where Potter, Weasley and the Mudblood were sitting.

His mouth fell slightly open.

Weasley was in conversation with Granger, both fondly stroking each others arms in a revolting manner. But Potter wasn't saying or doing anything, or even joining in with their conversation.  
>Potter looked like he had aged a hundred years. Not in appearance though, he was still the rather good looking but speccy, thin, messy dark haired boy Malfoy had always known, but his expression had changed.<p>

There was pain and emptiness in his slack facial expression, all the usual mischief and happiness gone and replaced with something depressing. His eyes were disorientated and his mind far from Hogwarts, and it was evident to Draco that Potter had no idea what was going on around him.  
>But what shocked him the most, perhaps, was that nobody else had noticed. Everyone (or, nearly everyone, Draco thought) absolutely adored Potter (there was already a group of giggling girls a few meters behind him, all looking and flipping their hair at him, to which he was oblivious), and spent half their time staring at him. Then why did they not notice something was wrong with him?<p>

"Are you ok Draco?" Pansy asked him, and Draco then realised (with Horror) that he had been too busy trying to figure out Harry Potter to join in the conversation.

"Yeah fine. Sorry, must have dosed off." Draco smiled weakly, and Pansy beamed at him.

"Can't say I blame you, the Hogwarts beds are bloody uncomfortable. I'm surprised I could sleep at all," Blaise muttered darkly. Then the conversation twisted towards finding faults at Hogwarts, and Draco was (nearly) distracted from Potter's wearied appearance.

Besides, Draco smirked to himself, Potter wasn't his problem. Let him suffer, why did Draco care?

A month passed in this way. Lessons had, officially started, and homework was piling up. However, Harry was glad to have something to do, as his nights had become torture for him.

The dreams had started to come more frequently, and much worse. The corpses of his friends and family were becoming more gruesome, and every dream had some reference to Voldemort, often ending in Harry screaming and waking up the whole dormitory. Harry had started to put silencing charms around his bed, after numerous complaints and groans from Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ron.  
>They dont understand though, Harry often told himself, they don't care. Nobody cares.<p>

Harry often spent time walking through the grounds of Hogwarts, alone. Even when it was raining, he would take Snape (the owl) as company, and wander through the forests and mountains. He would come back very late, usually greeted with 'Harry James Potter! Where HAVE you been?' by Hermione, or 'Hey mate! Have you done the Potions homework?' by Ron. Ginny had started to avoid him slightly, and Harry assumed that she didnt want to speak to him, so he didn't pursue her. Sometimes, he'd just find an empty classroom to sit in, or waste time in the Owlery, with Snape.  
>In between lessons, Harry would wander the corridors at Hogwarts, not noticing where he was going.<p>

It was a bleak Thursday morning, and Harry was heading to Transfiguration. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it, as they had moved onto transfiguring humans, and Harry didn't fancy the prospect of becoming a pig for the next half an hour. Especially with Ron as a partner, who would, most likely, do some damage to Harry's appearance.

Harry was thinking about the previous night's dream, which was worse than any of the others. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts; he didn't pay attention where he was going, and succeeded in knocking straight into Draco Malfoy, knocking all of the books both he and Malfoy were carrying.

"Watch it Potter." Malfoy hissed, bending down to pick up his 'Advanced Potions Making' copy.

Harry didn't reply. He just watched as Malfoy crawled around picking up his books. Malfoy glared at him.

"You know, a simple sorry would have been nice. Or some help would have been better." Malfoy snapped, picking up the final dropped book.

"Oh, right." Harry said flatly, "Sorry."

There was a silence, when Draco straightened up and looked curiously and Harry, who made no effort to pick up any of his dropped books, and just stood there limply, expressionless.

"What's the matter with _you_?" Malfoy asked, a slight sneer in his voice. Harry snapped back into reality, and glared and Malfoy.

"I'm fine Malfoy, mind your own business." Harry snapped back, finally bending over to pick up the books around him, while Malfoy watched, face torn between amusement and puzzlement, "Just leave me alone."

"Where's Weasel and Granger?" Malfoy asked curiously, "They usually follow you around like you're their idol or something. Or have you fallen out with them again?"

"Mind your own business Malfoy." Harry turned red, and started stuffing books into his bag, glaring pointedly at Malfoy, "Don't you have a lesson or something to go to?"

"Actually, I happen to have a free period," Malfoy smirked at Harry again, and made no move to leave Harry alone_. Arrogant git_, Harry thought.

"Well, don't you have some first years or something to push off the Astronomy Tower? Or you can go do something useful instead of interrogating me here," Harry snapped again, scowling slightly. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Well fine then. I'll leave you to your business," Malfoy stepped over Harry's bag and started to head in the opposite direction, "You missed one," he pointed to a 'Defence against the Dark Arts for Advanced Pupils' on the floor.

Harry cursed, and picked it up off the floor. _I just made an idiot of myself in front of Malfoy_, he thought, _just the thing I need to cheer me up today._

Harry arrived 5 minutes late for Transfiguration, and was greeted by a furious Professor McGonagall.

"Just because you've defeated Voldemort, Potter," she scolded, "Doesn't mean you can turn up whenever you like to lessons."

Harry took a seat next to Ron, fuming. If it wasn't for Malfoy, he would have been on time. But then again, if he hadn't zoned out again, he wouldn't have had to talk to Malfoy at all.

Hermione, who was sitting in front of him, turned around to face him furiously.

"Harry, where HAVE you been?" she cried angrily, "You can't just _always _turn up late for lessons! How _are _you going to pass your NEWTS?"

Harry shrugged. He couldn't care less about his NEWTS at the moment. Hermione noticed this, and turned at him, furious once more.

"Harry, you can't relax just because you defeated Voldemort! You need to think about your education!" she said forcefully, as Professor McGonagall asked them all to turn to page 394 in their books.

"Give him a break Hermione," Ron laughed, taking his book out of his bag, "He probably has a good excuse."

Hermione glared at Harry, and he sighed.

"Look, I ran into Malfoy on the way, and dropped all of my books. Then I had a _charming_," Harry gritted his teeth, "Conversation with him. There, you happy now?"

"Why did you talk to Malfoy? He's a git." Ron snorted, and McGonagall cast a sour look in their direction.

_Ron's right_, Harry thought. Why _did I talk to Malfoy. He's always been a dick towards me._

But a thought started nagging at Harry then. Malfoy was the only person who had noticed something was wrong with Harry. No one else, not even his best friends, had noticed Harry wasn't himself.

_So why, _Harry thought, _did Malfoy notice? And why did he try to talk to me?_

_Fuck,_ Draco thought. F_uck, fuck fuck_

Had he just tried to be nice to Harry Potter? Harry Potter, his arch enemy?

Fuck.

Draco wandered into the Slytherin Common room, and threw himself down on the sofa, then buried his head in his hands.

_Stupid bloody Potter, making me be nice to him_, Draco thought.

Malfoys weren't meant to be nice. To anyone. Especially not _to fucking Potter. _

However, now that he came to think of it, Potter did look quite pitiful and sick. A little like Draco had done in his 6th year, just a different kind of sick. Potter had big dark circles under his eyes, which had lost their warmth and had become cold and frightfully empty. His hair was more unbrushed and untidy than usual, and he looked thinner. His expression was empty, and Draco figured his mind was in some far off Potter-land.

What was wrong with him?

For some reason, Draco had a very strong urge to find out what was wrong with him. He didn't know why.

_Probably feel gratitude for him for saving me from Azkaban, or something_, Draco thought. _And my mother. _

Which reminded him, he had promised to write to his mother at least once every few days. He had forgotten (or been too busy) to write to her for nearly a week now, so before she went to any rash decisions, he had to tell her he was fine.

He grabbed a piece of parchment from his bag, and headed off towards the Owlery, "accidently" knocking over several first year Hufflepuffs on his way.

Harry finished Transfiguration with a pile of homework, and having been turned into a pig several times, with a sore head. He slipped away from Ron and Hermione at the entrance of the classroom, and headed down to the Owlery, to send a letter to Mrs Weasley. She insisted on him writing to her once a month to tell her how he was getting on. Anything to distract her from the pain of losing Fred, he supposed.

_Your fault Harry Potter. This is all your fault._

Harry tried to push the image of Fred's ghost in his dream out of his mind, but it had already had its effect on Harry's mind. Once again, the emptiness inside of Harry was replaced with pain and guilt, and Harry felt himself grow hot around the neck and his breath quickened. He increased his walking speed.

Harry successfully dodged several fifth year and sixth year fangirls on his way to the Owlery, managed to nearly fall down the stairs and wacked his head against a low ceiling. Cursing under his breath, he finally managed to climb his way into the Owlery, and was scribbling a fast note to Mrs Weasley, when-

"Shit," he heard a familiar voice, and turned around.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped, taken by surprise by the figure of Draco Malfoy by the entrance, who mirrored his look of surprise.

"I can ask you the same question," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry glared at him for a bit, then replied, "I'm writing a letter. To...to...to Mrs Weasley." Harry's voice faded out on Mrs Weasley's name, as the ghost of Fred swam into his mind. Draco noticed the pained expression on Harry's face, but thankfully didn't question him.

Harry said nothing for a few minutes, and attached the letter to Snape's leg (Snape snapped his beak at Harry several times, as Harry nearly pulled his leg off). Draco, looked at him for a moment, then got his parchment out.

"Merlin's beard, I've forgotten a quill." Draco groaned, searching his pockets, "Can I use yours?" he asked Harry.

Harry said nothing, but passed his quill over to Draco, who snatched it and started scribbling.

"I'm writing to my mother. She said she wanted to hear that everything's fine with me." Draco yawned loudly, then folded the letter up. Harry said nothing.

Draco gazed around at all the owls, waiting for Harry to reply. After several moments, he sighed in frustration.

_Why am I even talking to him? _Draco thought to himself, _this is Harry Potter, my enemy. Why am I being nice to him._

Draco words took effect. He can't, he _musn't _even try to be friendly with Potter. He hated Potter, of course he did. And Potter hated him too.

_I must say something insulting, _Draco thought to himself, _so he gets the message that I still hate him._

"I like writing to my mother," Draco sneered instantly, all traces of friendliness erased from his voice, "It's so nice having parents which care about you. But of course, silly me," Draco watched in satisfaction as Harry's eyes widened, "You don't have anyone who cares about you, do you? No parents, no relatives..."

"I have friends," Harry said quickly, flushing in anger, "I have Ron and Hermione."

"Friends with whom you don't even talk to?" Malfoy smirked, "Friend's who don't even realise something's wrong with you?"

"How did you know-" Harry opened his mouth angrily, then shut it again, his face turning red, "There's nothing wrong with me! I'm fine!"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Harry had had enough. He shoved Draco into the wall ("Ow, watch it you idiot," Draco cried out, rubbing his head) and marched briskly out of the Owlery. Draco watched out of the window as Harry's silhouette disappeared back into Hogwarts.

_Serves him right, _Malfoy smirked to himself, as he sent his owl off to his mother.

However, the look of pain on Harry's face still remained fixed in Draco's mind.

**I've already written several other chapters, but I will post them later. Meanwhile, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author note: Well, heres chapter 2! Please know, this is my first fanfiction, so Im not a very experienced writer yet. Overall I didn't have much time for this story, so it is a little rushed. However, I hope you enjoy it, as I did put effort into it! Thank you **

During the rest of the term, Harry scarcely spoke to Draco. The Slytherins continued to shout insults over at Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors every day, but Harry no longer noticed, no longer cared. He saw Draco in most of his lessons, but made no effort to converse with him. Harry didn't really make an effort to converse with _anybody. _He did go on walks with Ginny like he did in his 6th year, but very rarely, and the walks were barely enjoyable. Ginny was silent for most of the time, and when they did talk their conversations were brief and boring.

_She's tired of me, _Harry thought, _they all are._

Ginny had started to spend a lot of time with Dean, and Harry often saw her laughing with him, and talking like she used to talk with him. Harry did feel a little jealous, after all Ginny was still his girlfriend, but most of him didn't care anymore. He hardly cared about anything any more.

Harry spent most of his free time during the day wandering the grounds at Hogwarts, or absently sitting with Ron and Hermione who tried to rope him into conversation, but often failed.

Harry's nights however, were torture to him. The dreams hadn't, _wouldn't _stop, as if Harry was under some curse which he couldn't get rid of. He woke up screaming at least 3 nights a week, usually shaking heavily afterwards. As he couldn't get to sleep once he had woken up, he would get dressed and wander around Hogwarts, trying very hard to forget the dream, but often failing. At breakfast he would rarely eat anything, although sometimes Hermione practically force fed him (much to Ron's amusement). Harry would find it hard to concentrate in lessons, his mind often becoming empty and elsewhere. And still, nobody (other than Draco, but Harry tried not to think about that) noticed.

However, though Harry didn't know it yet, his dreams were currently mild compared to what was coming. And it was at the beginning of November that things started to get worse.

_Harry was alone in a room. It was a fairly big room, with white walls and one, shiny black door. Harry tried the door, but it was locked._

_Harry patted the walls, trying to find some way out of the room. But every time he touched a wall, his fingers would make a dent in it. Harry stepped back into the middle, and looked around._

_Suddenly, Harry's heart missed a beat._

_A dark, crimson substance was oozing out of the dents in the walls. It started off slowly, then sped up, like a tap put on to full blast._

_Harry tried to cry out, but his voice failed him. The blood started to flow towards him. Harry tried to step backwards, but it surrounded him. _

"_What's happening?" Harry whispered, terrified, as the blood finally reached him, and started to fill up the room, like a jug into which water was pouring. _

_Now Harry was up to his knees, now up to his waist, now up to his chest. Harry started screaming, but that didn't help, it never helped._

"_Help me! Please, somebody help me!" Harry yelled, as the blood came up to his shoulders. Harry wasn't a fairly decent swimmer; in fact, he could barely swim at all. And the prospect of drowning in blood terrified Harry._

_Suddenly, Harry was immersed in the blood. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, and all he could see was red. Harry thrashed around in the water, screaming inaudibly. _

"_Help me!" bubbles of air came out of Harry's mouth, as he desperately tried to swim up, but something was holding him back. _

I'm going to suffocate, _Harry thought, desperately trying to swim, _I'm going to drown, I'm going to die.

_Suddenly he felt something brush against his arm. He spun round, but there was nothing there. Something then brushed against his back. When he turned around, he yelled out in shock._

_The body of Fred Weasley was so close to him, their noses were practically touching. Harry screamed again, and tried to spin round, only to be greeted with the body of Lupin._

"_I have a son Harry," Lupin said quietly, and Harry froze, "You took me away from my son, Harry."_

_Harry whimpered and tried to swim away, but a hand was holding his shoulder. He turned around, to be greeted by Cedric._

"_You caused my father pain Harry," Cedric whispered, "I was his only son Harry."_

"_Please...stop it." Harry screamed, and as he did the door opened, and all the contents of the room came spilling out, like a plug had just been taken out of a bath tub. Harry found himself tumbling into another room, screaming and trying desperately to grab onto something, but everything he touched disintegrated underneath his fingers..._

"_You should have known Harry Potter." Came a familiar, cold, cruel voice. Harry looked up._

_Lord Voldemort was standing over him, smiling pitilessly. Harry tried to scream out, but he found his throat blocked._

"_You should have known, if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind, Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, and he raised a thin, white hand in which the Elder Wand Harry had broken lay, and Harry saw the cruel mouth move, and suddenly he was immersed in a jet of green light, his mouth wide open, screaming-_

Harry woke up, drenched in blood. He yelled out and sat up, only to realise it wasn't blood, but sweat. His throat was stinging, and his voice was hoarse.

He was shaking. He couldn't get the blood filled room out of his head, and the words of Voldemort still rang in his head,

_If I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind._

Harry rubbed his face with all his might, but he couldn't clear his head. His mind was in severe pain, and no matter how much he shook himself, he couldn't escape.

His breathing quickened. He needed some relief from this, something to take his mind off of it, something to stop all the pain and misery, something, anything...

Harry spotted his shaving razor on his bedside table. His shaky hand reached towards it, he barely knew what he was doing yet this felt so right to him. He brought the razor closer to his bare arm...

He didn't remember what happened next, all he felt was pain in his arm, all he saw was blood coming off his skin and dripping onto his sheets. All he knew was that his mind had relaxed slightly. All the (mental) pain had gone. He moved the razor again and again over his arms, until his sheets were wet with blood, and until his mind had completely relaxed. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes, then opened them again, and looked down onto his arms.

They were covered in blood. He brushed some of the blood off with his duvet, to reveal half a dozen thin but rather deep crimson cuts all over his arms, like he had run through a particularly thorny bush. His sheets looked like somebody had died on them. If anyone else from the dorm woke up now, they would realise what Harry had done. Shaking slightly Harry picked up his wand and cleaned his bed sheet. He then removed blood stains from his clothes and duvet, and hid the razor.

He left his cuts as they were (after cleaning the blood off). He had never known how to heal wounds, and if he asked Hermione, she would most definitely ask why.

What struck Harry the most was that he felt better. Of course, now his arms were throbbing horribly, but the effects of the dream had worn off slightly.

Sighing, Harry pulled on a long sleeved shirt he got from his trunk next to his bed, and put it on so that nobody could tell what he was doing. Then, for the first time in several months, Harry lay back down and fell asleep.

This became Harry's daily night routine. And nobody noticed that Harry only ever wore long sleeved tops now, often clutching the ends of his sleeves in his hands. Hardly anybody noticed that Harry had spots of blood often on his sleeves, and when they did ask, Harry would brush them off saying 'I cut myself while shaving' or 'I tripped over'. They would then swallow his lies and excuses, and not persist further.

Harry did become slightly more cheerful, and even sometimes joined in conversations with Ron and Hermione. However, not everything lasts.

It was the 14th of December, the last day of term before the winter holidays. Harry was staying over at Hogwarts, even though Ron kept insisting he come to the Burrow. Hermione was going back to her parents, and everyone else Harry knew were going home. But this didn't bother Harry; he was used to feeling alone now, and besides, he _wanted _to be alone.

Currently, Harry was sitting in his Transfiguration lesson, learning how to turn people into ravens. The classroom was filled with feathers and 'caws', but Harry didn't notice this. Once again, his mind was elsewhere.

_if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind_

Harry's arms were stinging badly. Todays nightmare was, once again, worse. But the worst thing was, that Harry's self harming hadn't helped today. The dream was still bothering him, even five hours later, in Transfiguration.

_This is all your fault Harry._

"Potter, are you concentrating?"

_Im going to destroy you, Harry Potter_

"Potter!"

_You killed us all Harry. Its all your fault._

"Potter! Are you concentrating or are you daydreaming?"

Harry snapped back into reality, to see Professor McGonagall's face glaring up at him.

"Sorry P-Proffesor," Harry realised he was shaking, "I- I am. S-sorrry."

"Potter, are you alright?" McGonagall's expression changed from irritation to sympathy, "You look a little peaky."

"D-do I?" Harry stammered, and realised he was sweating heavily, and as he looked around he caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. His face was deathly white, and he was shaking noticeably.

_if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind_

"Potter, I think you should go to the nurse," McGonagall said, kindly, "We don't want you passing out on the floor here, do we?"

_Anything to get away from here, _Harry thought, _Just please, anything to make this stop._

Harry nodded feebly, and, ignoring the sympathetic and concerned looks from his classmates, a "What's wrong Harry?" from Ron and a "Do you need any help Harry?" from Hermione, he packed his bag up and walked off.

Instead of heading to the nurse however, Harry made his way to the seventh floor. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.

When he had reached a familiar looking wall, Harry stopped. He turned to face it, shut his eyes and concentrated.

_I need somewhere to hide, _he though, _I need somewhere to hide myself._

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a tall, handsome door which had grown from the wall. Still shaking and uncertain, he reached for the handle, opened the door and stepped into the Room of Requirement.

It was nearly exactly as it had been the very last time he had left it. Some of the objects were still charred and blackened by the fire, while others remained intact.

Harry numbly walked for what seemed like an hour, until he eventually stopped by a pile of discarded books.

_if I couldn't kill you in reality, I would kill you in your mind_

Harry realised he was sweating and shaking heavily. He tugged off his hoodie to reveal a short sleeved green shirt, which was partially drenched in sweat. His scars and fresh cuts were highly visible on his pale arms, and bruises had started to form over them, like Harry had splashed paint over himself. Harry angrily kicked a book ('Dangerous and banned curses, by Imelda Frankenfold) into an old mirror, then caught sight of his reflection.

His face was thinner than he remembered, his glasses now looked too big for his face, and his hair was longer than ever, and messier than ever. He looked sick, ill and awful, and in his eyes there was a terrible emptiness, anger and guilt which scared him.

_All your fault, Harry Potter_

Harry cried out and hit the mirror with all his might. It shattered under his fist, and the broken pieces of glass fell soundlessly, surrounding Harry.

_Seven years bad luck, here I come, _Harry laughed bitterly to himself, then sank down onto his knees.

Draco Malfoy was bored. He had (once again) a free period, but he had nothing to do. He had done all of his homework, written to his mother, bullied several first years. Now he had nothing to do. He was walking along the 7th corridor, thinking of something to do when suddenly, he stopped. He turned around and raised his eyebrows.

A tall, handsome door had appeared out of nowhere. Draco recognized the door very well, having spent a majority of his time in his 6th year in the room behind it.

_But why, _Draco thought, _has it appeared here for me? I hardly think being bored is a good enough reason to use the Room of Requirement._

However, glad of something to do, Draco entered the room. There were piles of blackened furniture and other objects nearly as tall as the ceiling everywhere, and bits of ash all over the floor.

The room had turned into the way it was when Crabbe had managed to set it on fire. Draco remembered as if it was only yesterday, the way he was forced to climb one of the furniture mountains in order to escape the flames, then suddenly Potter had flown in and grabbed him and saved him from a certain death.

_Another reason to be grateful to Potter, _Malfoy thought bitterly.

Suddenly, he heard a distant noise. It sounded like someone crying, and Draco became curious. He wove in and out between the furniture mountains, but he couldn't trace the source. He was about to give up, when he turned a corner and gasped.

It was like being taken back in time, back to Draco's sixth year, when Draco had been given the difficult task of mending the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco had spent half of his time crying back then, whether it had been in the girl's toilet, or in the Room of Requirement

For Draco, it was like he was standing there, watching a younger him crying all over again. Except it wasn't him crying this time.

Harry Potter was kneeling, his face in his hands, crying loudly.

Draco Malfoy was shocked. Never had he imagined that Harry Potter could lose himself and cry like this, he had always thought that Potter had swallowed everything that had come his way, and gotten on with his life.

Then, Malfoy's eyes flickered towards Potter's arms. He nearly cried out in shock. Potter's arms looked like he had been the victim of a violent stabbing attack. They were bruised and cut, and not a single inch of his arms was unharmed. What had happened?

Then it dawned to Draco. Shocked, he took a step forward.

"What have you done?" Draco said hoarsely, and Harry stopped crying and spun round, "What the _hell _have you done?"


End file.
